


The Art of Falling

by Cordelia_Sun



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia_Sun/pseuds/Cordelia_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton knows how to fall, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Framlingem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Framlingem/gifts).



> Setting: Early in the current comics before it all gets really bad.  
> No specific spoilers (I don't think anyway!)

_Okay this…_

_This is bad._

***

"Where'd Clint go?"

"He was here a minute ago," Simone says with a frown and looks up from the little boy she's bouncing on her lap. She directs her gaze toward the spot on the rooftop where, until a few seconds ago, Clint had been leaning against a vent nursing a bottle of beer, "he can't have gone far."

"Ha! If you believe that you’re as crazy as he is." Kate Bishop grins, props a hand on her hip and purses her lips, "he can't go to the bathroom without creating a universe worth of trouble. Trust me, he could be anywhere."

Kate wrinkles her nose and the wind whips her black hair around her face. In the movies it would have been artful and enigmatic, but this being real life the hair just gets stuck in her mouth and her eyes. She rakes an irritable hand through the tresses and pins them away from her face.

"Barton," she mutters almost too quiet for Simone to catch, "where have you gone?"

***

_It’s been worse. I gotta admit it’s been a lot worse._

_You never get used to that feeling._

_The one you get when you dream of falling into an abyss and your stomach right about jumps out of your throat?_

_Yeah, you never get used to that._

_Especially when you're not dreaming._

_So what now?_

_..._

_The wire tenses._

_Back muscles tighten and lock._

_Slow your breathing._

_Exhale—_

_—relax your hand._

_"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"_

***

"Did you hear something?" Katie whips around and the wind washes her words away, "I thought I heard something."

"Could be," Simone says with a shrug, "there's a lotta noise on his block."

"No, something else."

Kate stalks across the roof toward where Clint was standing and her long purple coat billows out behind her like a super hero cape. Simone scoops Gabe into her arms and hurries after her.

***

_Inhale—_

_—Exhale_

_Okay, so that hurts like futz._

_There’s an art to falling._

_Once learned it’s kind of instinct. Second nature._

_Your body reacts without ever having to engage your brain; which is damn cool when you think about it._

_When you’ve been trained to fall by carnies and super heroes, well… you get real good at it. Even after a couple of beers._

_Ground doesn't get any softer though._

***

"You think maybe he jumped off the roof?" Simone peers over the wall that encircles the rooftop trying to get a good look at the ground without having to lean over too far.

"Jumped, why would he do that?" Kate joins her and leans over the low wall.  She lifts herself up and bends at the waist; putting her in a precarious dangle over the ledge. Watching her makes Simone's breath catch in her throat and the beat of her heart thumps a touch faster.

"I mean it wouldn’t be the first time," Kate says, "but there’s usually a good reason. Well… _a_ reason at least."

Kate straightens up and Simone breathes a sigh of relief.

"I don’t know, he's been...well, he's got a lot going on since he took over the building." Simone waves a hand as if to encompass the whole building; the entire world, "I worry… y'know?"

"Naw," says Kate, shaking her head with a rueful smile, "not his style. If Clint ever decides to do anything like that it'll be messy. We'd see it for miles!"

But still, they stand side by side, gazing into the gloom of the alley, willing their minds not to make monsters out of the shadows below.

"Mama!"

They turn in unison toward the sound.

"Baby, what's up?" Simone calls to her older boy, Benny, who is standing by the vent shaft in the centre of the roof. Right where Clint was leaning. Benny's mouth forms a round O of surprise and his hand rests on the collar of Barton’s dog, Lucky. The dog has pulled itself up on its hind legs and its front paws rest on the edge of the shaft wall. Lucky whines and buries his nose against his paws.

It dawns on Simone what has happened.

"Y'know," says Kate, who has obviously come to the same conclusion, "I reckon we may have just watched the canine equivalent of the face palm."

***

_Don't matter how good you are at falling if you topple backwards in a tight space._

_The rope was a lifesaver._

_Grabbed tight in one reflex fist. A miracle._

_Then there is the art of falling._

_Friction is a bitch, but it slows the descent._

_Feet together, knees bent and land_ _on the balls of your feet. Concentrates the shock wave._

_Slump slowly sideways._

_Face pressed against cool rough brick._

_Hurts like futz._

_Would'a been better to climb up._

_Hindsight. It’s a beautiful thing._

***

Kate and Simone peer through the hole in the vent cover. The peaked plastic hood is flimsy, cracked and dirty but Simone can tell that something about it worries Kate.

"Too neat," Kate mutters and her slim fingers brush over the broken edge, "too clean."

A rope hangs over the side, fine and expensive; the kind you see mountain climbers use on TV. It's anchored to a metal bracket in the wall. That's a worry too.

The vent shaft is dark and Simone can't see well, but if she strains she catches a glint of something moving far below at the edge of her field of vision. It's probably just a trick of the light.

"Clint!" Kate shouts into the shaft and cups her ear to drown out the wind and listen back.

"You think he's down there?" asks Simone.

"Yeah," says Kate, "I can see him."

Simone raises her brows; the girl's eyesight must be exceptional.

"I'll fetch Grills." Simone scurries away glad to be doing something useful.

***

_There's a light at the end of the tunnel._

_Pretty sure I'm not supposed to move towards it though._

_Not that kinda light._

_Have to figure something out. Can't lie around here all day._

_If I was Thor, or Cap or Stark I reckon I could leap out in a single bound... or something like that. Better yet: smash through the wall._

_Damn, it sucks to be the ordinary guy._

_Always in a hole._

***

Grills stands in the corridor at the foot of the stairs with a lump hammer so huge Thor might well struggle to lift it (well, perhaps not) and a puzzled expression on his face.

"What do I need this for again?" he asks.

"We need to smash through the wall right here," says Kate as she slaps her hand against the brickwork beside her, "you can do that?"

Grills stares at the bricks for a few moments and then back at Kate.

"Yeah, I can do that." he pauses, "don't know why I should. We should call the fire department."

"No, no, no, we'll get him out first. If he's hurt we call the emergency services." Kate gives an airy wave of her hand as if this is something that happens all the time and, for all Simone knows, it does.

Simone wonders vaguely why they should take orders from a kid like Kate, but somehow it feels right.

Grills seems to come to the same conclusion and steps forward with a shrug. He heaves the hammer over his shoulder and, with a last look at Kate, swings.

***

_Okay, so now we have an earthquake. Great._

_Wait, do we have quakes in New York?_

_Why don't I know that? That seems like a thing I should know._

_Or a bomb. Crazy tracksuit dudes have decided to take out the whole building._

_In a slow, rhythmic way on just one wall? Maybe not._

_Aliens?_

_Whoever it is I wish they'd get on with it. Dust and crap getting in my hair, man._

***

Simone, Kate and Grills gather round the ragged hole in the wall and peer through into the space behind. Kate coughs and waves at the dusty air in a fruitless attempt to disperse it.

"Clint?" she calls in a voice that's too high and too casual, "you OK?"

"Hey, it's you!" Clint's voice calls back, just as high and just as artificially cheerful. As the air clears, they see him slumped against the wall covered in dust and filth and blood. Clint flashes them a blood stained grin full of maniacal cheer. He heaves himself forward with a groan and pulls himself to his hands and knees.

"What do you mean, "It’s you"?" Kate demands in an exasperated tone.

"Thought you were aliens," says Clint, with a little shrug, like it was the obvious conclusion.

Kate, Simone and Grills gape at him.

"I had to put a hole in the wall," Grills' worried tone breaks the silence.

"It's a good hole," observes Clint; his voice frays with the hint of a hysterical giggle. He waves Grills' worries away with his hand, "very holey. Well done."

"What the hell happened?" Kate demands.

"Fell."

"Fell! How? Wha...!" and she gives up, raising her arms in the air in exasperation, "you're hurt, and we need to get you to the hospital."

"It's fine," says Clint, "Just a scratch; nothing broken 'cept maybe a couple ribs."

Clint crawls out of the hole and clambers to his feet. He's swaying, filthy and his clothes are tattered; Simone can see raw flesh under his ravaged jeans where the rough brick has scraped away skin. She's is amazed he's still alive.

He looks down at his clothes with a sad smile and pulls at the huge whole in his sweater.

"Aw shirt! This was new."

Kate rolls her eyes and fixes him with a steely stare.

"Hospital!" she commands.

Clint's lips purse and a line of blood wells up around the pressed flesh. His eyes lock with Kate's for a long moment and they stand stock still in a silent battle of wills. For a moment Simone thinks he will argue but, to her great relief, he doesn't. He simply licks his lips and gives a short nod before suffering Grills and Kate to support him as he limps out of the building.

Simone watches them leave in silence before she heads back up the stairs eager to get back to her boys. She reflects on the strange afternoon; how one person can be so lucky and unlucky at the same time.

That boy, she thinks, needs taking care of.

***

On the roof an expensive rope, the kind that mountain climbers use, hangs over the lip of the shaft. Forgotten.

 


End file.
